Thirst
by Sapsorrow86
Summary: Royce Gold has found living to be a chore, battling an untreated depression triggered by the death of his son years ago. That is until the new librarian sparks life back into him. Ironically she's dead. Or rather undead.
1. Chapter 1

Storybrooke looked like something out of a postcard. Quaint little fishing town, with colourful businesses littered around main street and surrounded by a forest devoid of any particularly-nasty flora or fauna. Ideal for a weekend off or some rest and relaxation. The local populace was small and, as it is the fashion with tiny little hamlets, they all knew each other. It was a peaceful existence, with only the occasional gossip or small-town scandal to liven things up.

Once upon a time, though he couldn't exactly remember when, Royce Gold had found Storybrooke interesting. Well, he'd found exerting power over the cowering people of the town to be more than enough to sustain his interest. He'd delighted in building his hold over the town, purchasing little by little most of the properties and looking like an unassuming pawnbroker in the process. Then he'd moved to moneylending, simply because it gave him an extra thrill, and for years that seemed to be enough.

He couldn't recall the moment it all started tasting like ashes in his mouth. If he was honest with himself nothing had been quite right after his son and him had drifted apart. He hadn't realized how much of his life revolved around Bae till he'd driven him away, following what seemed to be the tradition of all Gold men, but over the years it had become clear that his boy had been centre of his world since he'd been born and nothing quite sparked his interest without him there.

He'd gotten used to his apathy, till it became as much a part of him as his lame leg or his crooked nose. He breathed it in every morning, anticipating the bucolic dullness of the day with the resignation of one that has given up before trying. He had fought it at first, this slow decent into passivity and lethargy, but it had been hopeless. Nowadays he concentrated on hiding his problem from the world, lest that weakness be exploited or used to mock him. His standing in the town, the reverent fear he commanded in the hearts of people, was the only thing he'd left of any consequence. It was all that separated him from complete oblivion, from becoming inconsequential in the minds of everyone in town.

Sometimes, though, he wondered if there was a point to it all. And he thanked whatever deity was out there that that thought scared him still. Every now and then he'd muster the energy and care to set up an appointment with Archie. Sometimes a session would lead to another and they'd established a fixed schedule but sooner or later he'd start skipping appointments and eventually he'd put an end to it, deciding that letting sleeping dogs lie was the better option.

All around him Storybrooke remained the dull, grey little town where nothing ever changed. So the minute that something did it couldn't help but catch his ever-waning attention, like being jolted awake in the night by the distant sound of thunder. It happened while he walked from his shop to Granny's to get some lunch. On the way he spotted the dilapidated library, noticing there was something... off about it. He realized with more than a bit of surprise that though the blinds were drawn like always the newspaper covering the windows was gone, and the glass looked newly polished.

It was the start of many changes, small and subtle but glaringly obvious in the stillness of Storybrooke. It wasn't long before rumour reached him- he'd made a point years ago to create a system that would ensure news got to him before they got to others, ignorant of the fact that there were no news in Storybrooke ever- that the Library was being re-opened. Years ago he'd heard about it in a meeting of the Town Council but though he was still a member he had long ago lost any interest in going to any reunions. A librarian had been hired from out of town and a small party was planned to commemorate the opening. As faintly-intrigued as he was about the new development he couldn't muster the energy to go.

A long time passed before he met the librarian. It happened late one evening, after he finished the tedious but routine task of taking inventory. He seldom sold anything or bought anything new anymore but he forced himself to go through the charade of going through everything in his shop once a month. By the time he finished it was close to seven and the streets where mostly deserted, in true small-town fashion. On his way to Granny's to get some dinner he spotted movement right outside the library. A woman was hanging posters on a bulletin board right outside. She was small, barely adult-size, but seemed to be set on compensating for it by wearing what looked like killer heels. He paused, noticing with curiosity that she was wearing designer clothing- there was no mistaking the exquisite craftsmanship or the lushness of the fabric. It was completely out of place in the middle of Nowhere, Maine, where only he and the mayor dressed in clothing like that. The dress was a fetching shade of blue, a good shade to pair with her wine-red shoes, and had a thin belt looped around the tiny waist. Because her back was to him he could not see her face but had a clear view of the masses of curly brown hair. He realized, startlingly, that she was humming, some airy, soothing tune he wasn't familiar with.

The clock above the library announced the hour, catching the pawnbroker's attention. Shaking his head he resumed his walk, eager to dine and go to bed. Sleeping had become the best part of his day and sometimes he was acutely aware of how sad that was.

He heard more about her as time went by, but he seldom ever saw her. He learned she was Australian, which was as cosmopolitan as Storybrooke got, and young, though she had ample knowledge of her field and came highly recommended. Everyone who met her seemed to like her, commenting on her cheerfulness and kind disposition. He heard about her instituting storytelling time on Wednesdays evenings, volunteering at the animal shelter and downing beers at the local pub with the miners. But beyond some generic information there didn't seem to be much that anyone knew about her personally. At first it was to be expected but the more time it passed the more he found it intriguing that so little was known about her. It started like an itch, one he hadn't felt in a long time, and it grew from there, making him glance over at the Library every time he strolled past.

Soon, however, talk about the newcomer was swept away in the face of what arguably was the most shocking revelation of the 21st century: in an address to the nation the president of the United States revealed, out of the blue, the existence of vampires. It sounded at first like some farfetched prank but soon enough it became clear that, surprisingly, it was all true.

The citizens of Storybrooke, like everyone else, followed the news attentively as it unfolded: the key piece of information seemed to be a breakthrough in medicine that allowed for the creation and mass-production of blood with the use of cloning technology. Though vampires had planned for a long time to reveal their existence, since the recent technological advances would soon make it impossible to hide themselves, it had been the sudden birth of a food source that would eliminate any threat they might pose to mankind what had finally allowed them to come clean so to speak. It was revealed vampires had their own society and set of rules which explained how they'd managed to remain undetected for so long. Among those rules was stressed the importance of the preservation of human lives. A spokesman for the American vampire community made it clear on several interviews.

"We, unlike other predators, have no need to kill for our food. It is true that it's ingrained on us the instinct to hunt and feed to the point that a starved vampire might not be able to control the how or where, but it is also that survival instinct that drives us to stop before killing. No sense depleting food sources, is there? In this way we are far more efficient and less damaging to the environment than any other predator out there, including human beings. It is also why humans and vampires have peacefully coexisted for hundreds of thousands of years without humans being the wiser."

He spoke at length about the strict population control present in vampire society- no vampire was allowed to turn more than one human in their lifetimes to compensate for the extremely low mortality rate natural to their species. Entire interviews were also dedicated to the debunking of myths regarding the abilities of vampires and their weaknesses. Based on the idea that ignorance would breed fear and hate there was a strict full disclosure policy regarding vampire nature, made possible by the passing of laws that made it a federal crime to harm a person because of their vampirism.

"The point about explaining about vampire weaknesses and such is certainly not to give people ideas about how to best harm one of my kind but to make sure they do not do so by accident. The vampire community feels safe in the knowledge that the American government will do its outmost to guarantee their security and well-being. We vampires have so much to contribute to society, and not only because of our heightened senses or enhanced strength but also because of our rich culture and accumulated experience. In time I believe this revelation will impact positively on both humans and vampires and usher us into a brand new era."

It was disingenuous, however, to believe awareness campaigns would in any way fully protect vampires that chose to reveal themselves so other measures were also announced. Members of the Vampire community would endeavour to monitor the well-being of the members of their own species and would have a direct input in the sentencing of those found guilty of harming one of their kind. The federal government would also take steps to ensure all new laws regarding the issue were quickly followed in every city and town in America to make sure no American citizen's rights were violated, be their alive or undead.

It took almost next to no time in Storybrooke for the rumour to start circulating that Mr Gold was a vampire. It began as a joke but it soon devolved into a full-fledged theory that had the town divided between those who thought it was only logical that Gold was an actual blood-sucker and others that maintained that he was simply a lousy human being.

Soon enough there was money riding on the subject, as well as compensation to whatever brave soul managed to solve the mystery. It was the reason Walter the security guard from the local hospital decided one day to throw a bucket of holly water at the pawnshop owner right outside Granny's. Though it was deemed a solid effort, and a ballsy move on Walter's part, it was sadly ruled inadmissible as proof of Gold's humanity because, as Ruby pointed out, the whole holly water thing was debunked as a myth. Though Walter didn't win any money everyone who had seen Gold get soaked chipped in to pay for the dry-cleaning bill that the security guard got stuck with.

The second and last attempt at uncovering the mystery of the landlord's nature was made by Billy, one of Michael Tillman's mechanics, who'd done his research and determined the best way to go was silver, which was confirmed to burn the undead. For the purposes of his experiment he unearthed one of his grandfather's secret treasures, a Peace Dollar from 1927 which was 90% pure silver, and spent days casually trying to get Gold to touch it. It soon became apparent that it would be quite a challenge, taking into account the pawnbroker's penchant for three-piece suits, gloves and avoiding human contact.

Two weeks of subtle tries yielded nothing and slowly Billy became more and more desperate. It was why one night, after having a few beers with the guys at Granny's he decided the only way to win the money was to pounce on Gold the moment he walked into the diner and shove the coin right into his face. That's how he ended up sprawled all over an extremely unamused Scotsman, his grandfather's Peace Dollar digging into the man's cheek. When he retreated it everyone leaned in to corroborate that the silver had done... nothing.

"Guess he's only the metaphorical kind of leech."

Leroy's comment hardly helped poor Billy's position and no one was the least bit shocked when the mechanic's rent rose dramatically the next day. The winnings came as a rather faint silver-lining.

After a few months the novelty of it all began to die down. Vampires became more present in the media and many came out in major cities and towns but Storybrooke seemed as far away from that world as possible and vampires remained, for the most part, still as mythical as before. The librarian remained the most interesting local novelty, which is how most people liked it. The mayor liked to brag about her little town being "too wholesome" to attract any undesirable people.

It took a surprising amount of time till Royce saw the Australian up-close, one evening when he decided to eat at Granny's instead of taking his order to go. She strolled in with energy to spare, completely incongruous given the late hour. She smiled at the waitress, Ruby, who smiled back and took her order right away, and waved at a couple of people before taking a seat on a booth in the corner and taking out a book from her purse. Though she practically vibrated with energy- and God, he'd forgotten how that felt like- which made her stand out even more than her outfit, an expensive mixture of femme fatale and old-fashioned elegance. She stood out like a sore thumb to him, like a spot of bright colour in the middle of a sea of grey but when he looked around no one else seemed to pay her the least bit of attention.

It didn't make sense to him. She was just so... so alive. It seemed impossible to look elsewhere but at her, the way she glanced around, taking in everything like it was new and exciting. The book open in front of her seemed to him like a cover, something to use to pretend she wasn't people-watching. She did it avidly, her eyes flitting from person to person, head cocked to the side as if she could pick up on conversations happening far away from her.

At some point, while he mindlessly shoved a bite of overpraised lasagne into his mouth and continued to observe her as subtly as possible, she laid his eyes on him and it was with a bit of shock that he realized he'd been eager for her to do so, his body tense and on the edge of his seat. She had startlingly-blue eyes with long lashes and a rather intense stare at first, softened by her smile. The eye-contact lasted a second at best before she glanced again at the pages of her book, as if to reinforce the illusion of being there to read and sip on what it looked like an iced tea.

He startled when his fork and knife scraped against his now empty plate, a rather unpleasant sound. He noticed then the lateness of the hour, surprised that he'd taken longer than he planned to eat. He dropped some bills on the table, enough for the meal and a tip and limped out, forcing himself not to turn around to catch another glimpse of the Librarian. He felt jittery and unbalanced and for the first time in a long while he'd fail to fall asleep before ten o'clock.

He decided, a few days later, to visit the library to see how it looked like renovated and in full use. He was a bit surprised when he entered to see most curtains drawn, the spacious room lit up by artificial light.

"It's to protect the books. All types of light damage books, but specially sunlight. In order to preserve the books for longer I try to keep the library illuminated mostly by fluorescent lights shielded by Plexiglas fixtures that lower the damage done to them."

She appeared out of nowhere, almost visibly startling him. She was dressed in a rose-coloured skirt, a ruffled burgundy and black chequered skirt and nude pumps, looking more like a socialite than a librarian. Her accent was not as thick as he expected and up close she looked as friendly and as vibrant as she did from afar. She was more subdued, though, though just as curious as the other day. But amidst familiar surroundings he was the only thing to be curious about and there was a certain thrill to be had in being the centre of her attention.

"What a dedicated librarian you are."

He hadn't realized how rusty he was at social interaction that even sneering came hard to him. The woman smiled and ducked her head in apparent humility.

"Why thank you." Though there was no trace of sarcasm in her voice her lips curled into a small smile that indicated she knew he had meant to mock her rather than compliment her. "I'm Belle French, by the way. You must be Mr Gold."

She took a few steps closer to him and extended her hand, the very picture of openness. Gingerly he took it, surprised by the firm handshake. It was a brief touch but he found himself missing it once it was over. No one in town ever touched him, for any reason. Before Bae had, Bae had hugged him and slapped him in the back and fallen asleep against him on the couch while watching cartoons. But it had been a long time since those days had passed, and he hadn't noticed just how... isolated he was. Years without physical contact outside violent attempts to try and see if he was human and he hadn't even registered it.

"It's nice to see someone new at the library. What can I help you with?"

She looked expectantly at him and for a second or two he had no idea what she wanted. It dawned on him a moment later that she was wondering what brought him to the library. He thought of a topic off the top of his head, thanking his lucky stars he'd watched a BBC special on the Spanish Civil War the night before so the topic was still fresh on his mind. She led him to the section of the library dedicated to contemporary world history, chatting about the subject as they walked almost side-by-side. Her enthusiasm seemed to light her up from inside, whatever tiredness he'd detected when he'd first entered the building. She had an impressive knowledge of the literature regarding the Spanish Civil War, going into detail about the few books she recommended specifically. He selected one despite her suggestion that he might like to take more, since he could keep them for up to a month with no problems. Personally, however, he thought it wouldn't be that much trouble to come take out one book at a time and return periodically to the library for another once he finished.

He didn't expect to find the book as engaging as he did. Reading material helped pass the time when there was nothing to do at the shop. It had been a while since a day flew by so quickly and soon enough he was returning to the library for more reading material. Miss French greeted him like they were old friends, even though she had to have been aware of his reputation. Though she lived in a tiny flat above the library out of his direct control he had enough pull on the council, if he ever felt the need to exercise it, to make things difficult for her. She didn't seem to be very impressed with his power at all and after so many years terrorizing Storybrooke it was quite a novel experience.

He made it a habit, unconsciously, to visit the library at least twice a month in search of new material. He flitted from topic to topic, usually helped by Miss French. She seemed to know a little bit about everything and even in the most mundane of conversations they would eventually stumble across something interesting. Her mind fascinated him, her awareness of the world around her, the energy she seemed to exude. Talking to her, even being in the same room managed to shake him off his ever-present apathy.

He was surprised when she sought him out for the first time instead of the other way around. She came into his shop one evening, so fresh-faced and energetic it was almost a crime at such an hour, and for a moment she didn't even register him, simply looking around as if taking it all in. He swept his eyes across the room as well, wondering what she found so captivating, and realized that he had let his shop go. There was dust everywhere, a thick coat of it that covered almost every surface. Objects were haphazardly lumped together, some tossed into curios and others half-hidden under clunky furniture. He couldn't recall the last time he ever sold anything and though he knew that part of it was because so very few people in Storybrooke could afford the sort of antiques he sold, he also had to acknowledge he was doing little on his part to try and sell anything. It also meant he'd stopped acquiring new pieces as well. Once upon a time he'd enjoyed browsing state sales and the like looking for good antiques to restore and sell but that had been long ago.

Miss French didn't seem to notice the dust, however. Her eyes were too busy trying to take it all in at once, every antique and knickknack he had lying around.

"You've such variety."

There was a dreamy quality to her voice that made his skin prickle. It was that spark again, that sudden jolt into awareness that was almost uncomfortable. He shrugged, trying to collect himself.

"Yes, well, I'm a man of eclectic tastes."

It certainly sounded better than to admit that he'd accumulated a lot of stuff over the years because he was unable to sell anything.

"Feel free to browse around."

She bit her lip and tilted her head slightly.

"I wouldn't know where to start, to be honest."

Though his first instinct was to interpret that as a polite way to indicate she had little interest in actually browsing around a closer study of her expression made it clear she was honestly intrigued by the pieces on display.

"Maybe you could give me a general tour?"

He found himself agreeing a bit too easily to her request. At first he recalled surprisingly little about anything in the shop but finally an old Mickey Mouse phone sparked the recollection of a funny anecdote regarding it. He felt wooden as he told it but she listened attentively and laughed in all the right places. After that it got easier to remember items he had that were particularly interesting. He had some quality pieces that really had no room in a small little town like Storybrooke where no one would ever be interested in them. Miss French, however, seemed to find them fascinating, even the disturbing wooden puppets that he'd purchased mostly to keep kids out of his store.

They barely covered a small portion of the store before she commented on the late hour and how she didn't wish to keep late. Though she promised to come back he didn't expect her to do, which meant he was rather surprised to see her come in one afternoon while it poured down on Storybrooke. After he got over the initial shock things went smoother than before. Miss French seemed, contrary to every single one of his expectations, supremely interested in all the pieces inside his shop and asked a myriad of questions about them. While he showed her around he became reacquainted with his place of work and the little treasures he had inside. Most of them he'd completely forgotten about and telling the librarian their stories or showing her how they'd been restored made him feel animated. He began to remember why he had once liked his job, recalling the wide-eyed look on Bae's eyes as a child as he'd watched his papa restore an old wooden toy in front of his eyes. He'd thought it proof that his father was magical.

She ended up purchasing a lovely art nouveau comb, silver with holly and mistletoe engravings a century or so old, and dared to haggle for the price, more for the fun of it than anything. Once ducked out into the rain again, with a smile and the promise to come back to see the rest he looked around, frowning at what he saw. He took of his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves and fished out some cleaning supplies, determined to get rid of the dust. Certainly Miss French would be even more impressed with the artefacts on display if they were clean.

Noticing the dust on the shop led him to doing the same at home. Everything about his house seemed musty and filthy and it took him no time to hire someone to come and clean thoroughly. It certainly felt better to wake up in the morning to fresh air and sunlight, which made him more prone to sit down to eat a proper breakfast instead of simply having a cup of coffee. In his pawnshop he'd taken to search the basement, which he used as storage space, for anything interesting he might tinker with. He found a veritable fountain of antique furniture, toys and many other pieces in various states of disrepair and filled the idle hours putting his rusty skills to work. There was a beauty and a joy in restoring things back to their former glory that he'd forgotten over the years. And sometimes, if he was lucky, Belle French would come by and ask him about his latest project. She had suggested he try his luck at selling his merchandise online- the librarian thought the Internet was the most marvellous invention ever- which had led him to finding out that his employee, Mr Dove, had his own website where he sold small ceramic unicorns and could, therefore, set up a website for the shop and keep it updated.

Whenever Belle visited his pawnshop, or he went to the library to pick up a new book, they'd get to talking. It was frightfully easy to be at ease in Belle's company and slowly open up under the careful probing of her curious nature. It did make it glaringly obvious, though, how one-sided such an openness was. Belle would never willingly offer any insight into her own life before Storybrooke. Whenever he'd ask her casual questions about where she'd been born or her family she'd clamp down, offering only a basic story about her parents having died a long time ago and being raised by a kindly old lady that took her in when she had no one.

It was only the idea that he might drive her away if he insisted that compelled him to keep his questions to himself and not intrude where he was obviously not wanted. He did find it odd that, from what he could see, no one really knew a lot about Miss French at all. She took interest in the lives of the people in town, certainly, even made a few friendships and found many ways in which to make the library a hot spot in town, from book clubs to knitting circles to attract as many people as possible. She was always eager to help but if she had any problems at all no one knew of them, nor found it perplexing that the librarian was a mystery to the entire town.

The charade might have gone on and on indefinitely. In retrospective Gold wasn't quite sure was Miss French's plan was but whatever it might have been it was unceremoniously ruined a late Saturday night. He was sitting at Granny's, trying not to look like he was expecting anyone, though he knew it was Belle's habit to dine at Granny's on Saturday nights and when she saw him there she always insisted they dine together. From his vantage point sitting in a booth next to a window he spotted the librarian, walking in impossibly-high heels with her nose stuck to a book, unmindful of the chill or the wind around her. It was a rather endearing trait, he had to admit. He turned away for a second to accept a menu from Ruby when he heard a screech of tires and a thumping sound, followed by screams. Everyone inside the dinner rushed first to the windows and then outside the door, Sheriff Graham grabbing his radio to request an ambulance.

The first thing he noticed when he went outside was the car, the hood, front fenders and bumper covered in blood and dents. Out of it staggered a confused Keith Nottingham, local drunk and sleaze. He stared at his car and then at the body crumpled on the pavement a few feet away and paled as his mind slowly processed what had happened. When he looked like he was about to bolt the sheriff grabbed him roughly, twisting one of his arms behind his back as he again requested an ambulance over the radio.

"Oh, that poor girl. Didn't even see him coming."

"Granny, is she...?"

Widow Lucas pursed her lips but nodded grimly, patting Ruby's back soothingly. Gold took a few shaky steps closer to the street, wondering why he couldn't hear the tale-tell sound of a siren approaching. There was... a lot of blood. The librarian's face was obscured by her hair, one of her arms bents at an odd angle and gashes on her legs. But the most impressive of all was the jagged fragments of one of the headlights embedded on her stomach, accounting for the pool of blood quickly gathering below. He glanced around to see the sheriff had managed to handcuff Nottingham to his cruiser and was now making sure people kept their distance from the scene of the accidents, every now and then looking in the general direction of the hospital. There was no point to it, though, and everyone knew it. At most what a doctor would be able to do was pronounce the...

"Oh my God."

All around him people started pointing, eyes widening and murmurs rising in the air. He turned once more, his eyes looking for Belle's crumpled form on the floor, only to see her standing. She was covered in blood still, looking dazed and confused at first. She glanced down at her shard-covered stomach before getting a hold of her twisted arm and tugging sharply on it, popping it back in place with a wet popping sound. She didn't seem to notice as all the small gashes and cuts on her skin started closing by themselves, concentrating instead on pulling out the piece of headlight piercing her stomach. When it was finally out she sighed in relief, glancing up and noticing for the first time the crowd around her. Her eyes flashed gold, her slightly-opened mouth letting everyone see the tips of her sharp fangs. She took a couple of tentative steps forwards, stilling when everyone around her took a couple of steps back.

"Right."

Her eyes swept across the crowd one last time, settling briefly on the pawnbroker with a sad sort of understanding, before she turned away and walked out of the scene, book and purse forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

It was everything anyone talked about in Storybrooke the next day. Granny's Diner seemed to be the epicentre of the discussion, with people glancing out the windows to see the street where it had all happened. The pavement was still covered partially in blood, though the car had been towed away. The witnesses were like celebrities, getting free meals and drinks, depending on the time of the day, while they related to others again and again how it had all gone down. Some people, like Leroy, were particularly graphic, emphasizing every gruesome aspect of the incident to the excitement of his listeners.

Nearby the Storybrooke Library was closed up, bright yellow police tape covering the doors. Somewhere inside, everyone knew, was Belle French, and the notion had mothers forbidding their children to go anywhere near the Library. During the day curious bystanders would venture close to the windows, trying to take a peek inside. At night, however, the morbid excitement seemed to drain out of the townspeople and they shuts themselves away in their homes, uneasy even under lock and key.

It was a wonder, people said, that they hadn't noticed before that the librarian never was out during the day and that the library was kept in absolute isolation from natural light. It seemed so obvious now, after she'd risen from the dead in the pavement, pulling chunks of Keith's car from her torso like they were splinters that bothered her. It was difficult to imagine sunny, happy Belle, like some sort of monster. She was always so cheerful and so happy. Full of life.

The mayor was quick to raise security questions regarding the continuing presence of Belle French in Storybrooke. She preyed on people's fears, dropping comments on the right ears and encouraging those prone to panic and reject the unknown to let their voices be heard. Soon enough people were debating the wisdom of having an undead librarian, concerned parents admitting they wouldn't feel safe letting their children into the Library now that they knew what Miss French was.

Gold felt the need to remind her of just how illegal it would be firing Miss French because of her vampire status, and Sheriff Graham downright refused to answer to the many calls demanding he put the library under surveillance, many of them coming directly from City Hall.

In the mean time Royce kept an eye on the mayor and another one of the library. He hadn't realized how many times during the week he saw the librarian till the day she stopped going out. He couldn't imagine someone as sociable and as energetic as Miss French enjoying forced isolation much, specially between the tight confines of the library and the small apartment she called home. He thought about visiting, if she'd have him, but the truth was that he'd hardly help her cause. If the people were ever going to warm up to her again she'd have to associate with him as little as possible.

He couldn't get out of his head the way she'd looked at him that night on the street, though. There was, for the first time, such sadness in her. And betrayal. He wished he'd acted differently that night, that he hadn't frozen in place, too shocked and busy struggling to process what he was seeing, coupled with the unsettling relief he felt that she was alright. He couldn't still wrap his mind around it, really. He'd never met anyone who seemed less of a vampire than Belle French, and it was hard to reconcile the person with the wide-long smile and the exuberance with the woman with the fangs and the drying blood on her dress.

It explained a lot, though, specially why she had shared so little of her life with others. It made him feel absurdly pleased, to know she'd been keeping a secret out of fear instead of simply not being interested in confiding in him. He could hardly blame her: Storybrooke was, in true stereotypical small town form, small-minded. Not a very welcoming place for people who were different, much less... not-human.

After he got over his initial shock he was surprised to feel more curiosity than anything else. Thankful for once for his newly-acquired laptop he researched what he could on vampires. He stuck to official websites, aware of all the nonsense there was on the subject. It was, he soon discovered, a rather fascinating topic. From enhanced senses to superior speed and strength vampires were, for all intents and purposes, miles ahead of human beings. Nevertheless they'd coexisted peacefully, and developed a highly complex society with very strict rules, which accounted for how they'd managed to remain make-believe for so many centuries. Other than their highly-developed senses and bodies there was little distinction between vampires and humans. Most superstitions where simple fabrications, tall tales passed around that had no basis in reality.

Any self-respecting public servant would've used information as a way to ease people's fears and doubts. Major Mills, on the contrary, was counting on ignorance, using it for her own purposes. The icing on the cake, however, came when a petition that had began mysteriously circulating around town got enough signatures to force the Town Council into action. It called for a hearing to assess the suitability of Miss French as the town librarian. Regina, with all the glee of a toddler, scheduled it for one PM sharp on Monday of the following week. The nature of the meeting wasn't even revealed to the other members until they convened half an our earlier. Though usually mild-mannered and prone to staying out of conversations that didn't involve the town's finances, even William Midas complained out loud when the mayor, Chesire grin and all, told them what the day's business entitled.

"It's the middle of the day, it's counter-productive to cite the librarian if she cannot physically make it to the Town Hall."

"Besides the law states that appointments for vampires must be scheduled after sunset."

Royce Gold hid his anger well behind his seemingly-relaxed posture. A glance to the other side of the room let him know that the sheriff, though silent, wasn't amused either. Regina, on the other hand, was.

"Oh, but that only applied to vampires that properly register. Miss French has not done that so she doesn't get to enjoy any special treatment. It was her own doing."

Midas rolled his eyes, clearly not enjoying the mayor's petty power trip. Albert Spencer, the DA, was the only one who seemed to be on her side, which was not surprising. He had a cruel streak a mile long and no doubt he held the same twisted morals as the mayor.

When one o'clock struck no one was surprised to find that Miss French was a no-show. As instructed by the town charter, and this Gold insisted on merely to waste Regina Mills's time, the cited individual was allowed twenty minutes time in which to appear and time seemed to drag by slowly for everyone in the room. The twenty minutes were almost up when the massive doors of the audience room swung open, Belle French stepping through them. She was carrying an big overcoat in her hands with a hood and, though she was impeccably dressed, her clothing looking neat and tidy, she was also half-burned. Most of her left side was red and raw, some of the skin still singing. The sheriff was the first of the people present to snap out of his shocked stupor, hurrying towards her looking to help. He was stopped in his tracks by the sight of her skin healing, turning from charred red and black to pale peach in seconds. Her face was the last to heal, leaving behind healthy, smooth skin.

"That took longer than I expected. I apologize."

Beneath the layer of calm and politeness there was an unmistakable hint of sarcasm in the Australian's words. She still looked as unassuming and as gentle as before, much like a marble statue carved to simulate soft curves instead of hard rock. But the knowledge of her true form made it hard not to look at her in a new light, not to be aware of all the power that lay dormant beneath.

She produced some papers from the depths of her coat, which she organized neatly before giving to sheriff Graham, who in turn passed them to Regina.

"All my paperwork is there, proof not only of my vampire status but of my good behaviour. I've never had any problems controlling myself or my thirst, I am fully aware of the rules by which I must live and have always been careful to respect them. This should be enough to allay any fears regarding my suitability as librarian. I am not a danger and to assume so based solely on my nature would be against the law, I'm afraid."

There was little of the vibrant woman Royce had come to know in the person standing before the Council. Miss French looked put-together, as always, and poised, but there was something almost wrong about her. He could clearly see she'd rehearsed that speech, probably even before coming to Storybrooke. She must have known the Revelation would happen, must have planned for the moment she'd either willingly or not give up the charade, come clean at some point, and she'd prepared for the worst. She hadn't been wrong.

Regina perused the papers, handling them like they'd been dipped in acid beforehand. She didn't seem to pay much attention to what was written, merely going through them for show. Royce glanced from Regina to Miss French, who was eyeing the patch of sun making its way into the room from the open window with wariness. His right hand tightened around the golden handle of his cane, the only sign of his own flickering distress.

"Be that as it may, Miss French, the people of this town have drafted and signed a petition demanding this council to vote on the matter of your continuing employment. It requires us to acknowledge and study what the good people of this town want and determine the best course of action, as it is the law as well." Regina's blood-red smile was almost nauseating. "Seeing as the matter requires no further explanation I propose we vote now. In the case of a tie then, as the town charter dictates, my vote will count as two to act as a tie-breaker. Everyone ready?"

She looked around, her eyes briefly but meaningfully resting on Spencer. Midas would vote to keep Belle French because it would be the most cost-efficient option of the two. Royce supposed she thought he would also vote in favour of Miss French simply to contradict her, if nothing else. But Spencer... Spencer was something else. Self-righteous and malicious to the core, and not above doing as the mayor wanted in order to be able to extort payment at a later date.

Midas, as expected, voted against the petition. Gold did so too, taking care to look at the mayor and not at the librarian, lest the harpy discover he had more than a passing interest in the sunny little vampire. with something akin to gloating Regina turned to smile at Spencer, beside her, who was making a show of checking his watch and being completely uninterested in all the proceedings.

"Beautiful piece of work, Spencer. If I recall correctly James bought it from me to give to you as a birthday surprise some years ago." The pawnbroker smiled, like one would imagine a shark would if it could. "How is James, anyway? Keeping out of trouble, I hope, now that he's in college."

Once upon a time, some years ago, James had been a teenage nuisance in the small town, getting into fights, drinking and causing as much trouble as possible. His father had managed to get most of his indiscretions expunged or sealed in his juvenile record but when the boy tried to steal a watch from Gold's shop he was a few months past his eighteenth birthday, which meant that his promising football scholarship would go up in flames the moment he was arrested. Always one to spot a good deal when he saw one Gold had called Spencer instead of the Sheriff, explaining the situation and letting the distraught father know that he was prepared to be generous and let things slide if Spencer would promise to show gratitude at some later date.

"He's very well, thank you." The DA tensed visibly, all pretence of ease gone. He smiled thinly at the pawnbroker, who smiled back and reclined in his chair. "And, as for my vote, I agree with both Midas and Gold. There's no need to dismiss Miss French, she doesn't seem to be a danger to herself or others and in time I am sure the town will see reason as well. It's time for some open-mindedness and it might as well start here."

With three votes against the dismissal of Miss French Regina's input became completely irrelevant. With no further business to be discussed the meeting was adjourned, the mayor quickly storming out of the room in a huff, careful to give the librarian a wide berth and make it clear she was doing so. The Australian guessed she wouldn't bee seeing a lot of the mayor's son, Daniel, from then on.

Gold busied himself exchanging inane pleasantries with Midas, suddenly nervous. He knew, or at least he was almost sure of it, that he wasn't afraid of Miss French. Though it had become clear during the last few days that he knew shockingly little about her, he was absolutely certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that she'd never hurt him, or anyone else. It wasn't part of her nature.

But he was acutely aware that if Belle was ever going to win over the people of Storybrooke again, like she obviously wanted to, she'd do well to avoid being associated with him. It was easy enough slip out of the Town Hall unnoticed, the mid-afternoon sun blinding him temporarily, somehow mocking him. Miss French might very well be a vampire but amongst themselves he was still the monster.

He watched from afar as the library re-opened and Belle French bravely faced the town again. It became downright insulting the way people would make a spectacle of avoiding her, crossing the street when they saw her approach, crossing themselves when they passed the library and loudly scolding their children when they didn't play the same sad game as the adults. Other people, the more reasonable people like Granny or Ruby, took to ignoring what they knew about the librarian's nature, going sometimes out of their way to avoid the subject. The diner became the only establishment in Storybrooke Belle would dare linger on, even though people tended to avoid it when she was there.

Though Royce had perfected the art of carefully avoiding the dinner whenever the librarian was inside- no use feeding obsessions that led nowhere, after all- rain forced him inside one evening. He was surprised to see so many people in the diner while the librarian was sipping on a tall glass of iced tea, but he wagered the bad weather must have driven them inside. He took the only available table- obviously close to the vampire, since people were avoiding that area like the plague- and ordered a cup of tea, grimacing when he sat down and his right leg protested. The humidity would do his twisted ankle no favours.

While he stirred his cup of tea he surreptitiously watched the librarian. She was pretending to read again, sipping her iced tea from time to time, but he could tell her attention was focused on the room rather than on the novel in her hands. Her gaze, every so often, would wander around the small space, taking in the people watching her warily, tense in their sits and the emptiness beside her and then return to the story. She looked... lonely. Not dangerous, or predatory, or whatever else one of her kind was supposed to look. Just... lonely. And resigned.

He was standing before he realized he'd made a decision, limping to stand awkwardly in front of the empty chair in front of the librarian.

"Is this seat taken?"

He could feel the eyes of the other patrons boring into his back, but he was used to it. The librarian looked at him, surprise colouring her features. For a moment it looked like she didn't know quite how to reply but then, slowly, her lips stretched into a smile.

"Of course not. Do sit down, Mr Gold. I'd very much enjoy the company."

She immediately closed the book, her attention focusing solely on him. It was a strange, heady feeling. It made him nervous in a novel, pleasant way.

"I've been wanting to ask you, and I hope this does not come across as rude, but I see you're drinking iced tea, and I've seen you eat. Is it natural for vampires to do so?"

The Australian titled her head to the side, considering him. He could guess she was surprised that he'd said the "v" word aloud in her presence, not shying away from the topic like others had and wondering why he was doing so.

"We can eat and drink like normal humans, but very little at a time. Some vampires lose the habit or the taste for it over time. Some others do it to better blend in. I just happen to really like iced teas and chocolate."

She looked radiant, sitting there while a storm raged outside, talking about vampire habits like it was a dream come true. Perhaps, he thought, it was. Someone as vibrant as Belle must have felt stifled living a half-life in the shadows. Now she was eager to share herself with others, only to be met with prejudice and rejection.

"That's fascinating. Do tell me more." He didn't have to lie to her about that, certainly. But, nevertheless, it made him giddy seeing how a few words could make such an enchanting creature practically exude happiness. She leaned forward, eager to answer his questions and he unconsciously did so as well, forgetting about the rain or the hour, or the audience behind them. Screw the people of Storybrooke. Their loss was his gain.

They became, dare he say it, friends after that. She'd stop by his shop after sundown, usually to browse around and comment on whatever reminded her of her extended life. He confided in her that she'd been born in 1895 to English parents. Her father had left them to try his luck in Australia, turning a modest export business into a veritable empire. When her mother had died his papa had insisted she be with him, her one remaining family, and so he'd hired tutors and governesses so she could raise her in Australia with him. He'd, however, caved in to pressure of her mother's family to have her be presented at court. It had resulted in some boring parties- "But some rather fabulous outfits, I have to admit"- and little else and when war had broken with Germany she'd been whisked away back to her father's side. He'd died of a stroke sometime after the war, full of hope and certainty for the future of world peace.

"I was glad, of course, in the long run. He loved the League of Nations passionately. Used to get into shouting matches with his drinking buddies about it, defending the institution, calling it the breakthrough of the century, firmly believing it would usher in an era of peace and international cooperation. My papa was a very simple man, not very into politics, with a head he said was only good for business. But the League... he loved it. He loved everything it represented. I'm so glad he wasn't there to see how that particular story ended."

Whereas before she'd been reticent to tell him anything personal now she was a fountain of stories. She told him of living through the first world war, volunteering as a nurse when a nearby manor got turned into a makeshift hospital. She was a born storyteller, injecting emotion and painting quite a picture. She talked of her mother and he rewarded her pulling every single Art Nouveau piece he owed and showing them to her. She caressed each brooch and necklace like they were precious and enjoyed immensely watching Royce bring them back to life, fixing clasps, restoring enamel and polishing silver until everything looked brand new.

"I like a lot of things about the present. The world has become a friendlier place for women in many ways. There's more freedom to be had. My papa, he never limited me in any way, but I lived in a society that wasn't very tolerant of independent women. I like the present, I like it a lot, but sometimes... Sometimes I get nostalgic. It comes with living so long, older vampires tell me it comes with the territory. I'm young, still, but it happens."

He ached to ask her more about... her condition, but didn't want for it to seem like that's all he found fascinating about her. Far from it, really. Though he'd made great strides in connecting once again with the world, find each day interesting and fulfilling, he still couldn't find anything that drew his attention quite like her. Not her vampirism, her. Belle the Librarian who wore impractical heels he couldn't help but stare at sometimes and bit her lip when she was nervous.

Somehow, in between her visits to his shop and his afternoon trips to the library, he gained permission to call her by her given name- She actually demanded it of him, really- and offered his in return, realizing that it had been forever since anyone called him anything other than Mr Gold. She seemed to instinctively become aware of that, if the way she lingered on it every time she pronounced it was any indication.

They were friendly, if not friends, and it was enough for him, at first. He didn't know how to ask for more, or what more entailed, exactly. Talking to her on a semi-regular way, having her be interested in him, in how he was and what he was doing, felt like flexing muscles he hadn't used in a while. It was stressful and uncomfortable at times but he much preferred it to the numbness of before.

Though he tried, self-conscious as he was, to limit his visists to the Library lest she grow tired of him, he found himself one afternoon concocting up the flimsiest research emergency there ever was in order to visit Belle again. Something, however, seemed off with the Library from the distance. It wasn't till he got closer that he realized...

The curtains. Someone had opened the curtains of every single window, and by the looks of it smashed the glass too. He looked up briefly at the unforgiving mid-afternoon sun, his heart-rate speeding up. Cursing his lame leg and the jolt of pain he felt with ever footstep he rushed towards the library, finding the reading room inside almost entirely drenched in sunlight. The circulation desk, though cast in shadow, was deserted.

"Belle? Belle!"

In any other circumstance Royce would've been beyond mortified by the desperation ringing in his voice, the undisguised emotion. But he barely registered it at all, frantically scanning the room. He found her in a corner, curled up in a ball. The sun streaming through two windows kept her effectively trapped, though it didn't look like it was going to shift her way. She stared at it idly, as if in a trance. Willing his tense muscles to relax he limped towards her, awkwardly drawing the curtains close on both windows, setting her free.

"Royce."

The way she said his name made him uncomfortable in a wholly pleasant way. He pushed the feeling aside as quickly as it came, even if it was tempting to linger on it, to bask in its intensity.

"Are you alright? Who did this?"

"Just some kids, didn't get a good look at them. They meant no harm and I was never in any real danger. Just... trapped, till the sun went down. Or some dashing pawnbroker came to my rescue."

She smiled at him, a brilliant flash of her teeth that he'd appreciated if he wasn't convinced she was trying to change the subject.

"Don't joke about something like that." He limped around the room, forcefully pulling each curtain shut, making sure not a sliver of light could pass into the room. Thankfully it wasn't a windy day, but the glass would need to be replaced as soon as possible. "I've read about what sunburn feels like for vampires. In retrospective I have half a mind to scream at you for being careless and attending that summons from the Regina a few weeks ago. Stupid woman."

He drew the last curtain shut with much more force than the action warranted. He turned around, half mad and half afraid he'd said too much, pushed the limits of their tentative friendship. But Belle didn't look outraged or repulsed. She looked... awed.

"You've been... researching about vampires? For my safety?"

Royce pushed away the wave of discomfort that threatened to wash over him, sensing that he- they- were in the verge of... something. So he willed himself to be honest and not close up and turn into the snide monster that he usually did when he confronted situations he wasn't absolutely comfortable in.

"I was curious about you. Have been ever since you came into town. You must have noticed it." He held himself stiff and tall and couldn't quite make eye-contact, but he made himself continue. "Your... condition, it's a part of you. It fascinates me too." The more he talked the easier it was, and it was such a relief to finally voice some things he'd kept hidden. "The things you have seen, the things you can do. Distance, time, it means something different to you than it does to me. You see the world through different eyes, you perceive it in ways I can only imagine in dreams. It surprises me that no one else finds it all as... captivating as I do."

He noticed he was fidgeting with his cane, much to his chagrin. He chanced a glance at the librarian, who had a dreamy, hazy sort of look on her face, the sort of look that made something clench low in his belly and something flutter wretchedly inside his chest. Hopeless, a voice whispered inside him, utterly hopeless.

Pathetic.

"After the car accident, when you didn't approach me, I thought you were afraid or repulsed. But you're not who I thought you were." She had gotten impossibly close in the blink of an eye and he was once more reminded of what an amazing creature she was. "And I'm glad."

Regina, to no one's surprise, dragged her feet when it came time to fork over the money to repair the windows of the library, so Gold took great pleasure in pointing out that the library, as it was, represented a hazardous working condition to Miss French and new laws states that should be corrected immediately. Besides, new regulations called for UV-blocking glass, which they might as well install now instead of being forced to comply once the grace period was over. Regina threw a tantrum over it, causing an endless number of headaches that were all more than worth it when he got to see Belle step into the light, basking in its warmth.

"And you made the mayor pay for it. You wonderful, wonderful man."

They saw each other almost every day, and the fact that he didn't feel the need to concoct up any excuse to do so filled him with giddiness. He became used to keeping late hours, opening the pawnshop at eleven and closing it around eight. Then he'd go to the library, where he'd watch Belle lock-up and afterwards they'd either go to Granny's for dinner- well, she'd watch him eat, at least- and then a stroll outside. Sometimes, when his leg felt up to it, they'd go to the forest, where Belle would point out things his senses couldn't capture, trying to show him the world from her perspective. Far from being morose or gloomy Belle was warmth and sunshine personified, more of a fluttering sprite than a dark spirit of the night. She talked to him about being a vampire of the so-called "blood bank generation", meaning she'd almost always had access to blood through the means of blood banks, created after the First World War. Little by little she shared every aspect of herself with him, and the level of trust that implied sometimes made him breathless.

One night, while examining an old set of hair combs that reminded her of ones she used to own back when she was human she told him the story of her turning. She'd never met her sire, who'd attacked her in the dead of night and left her there to die from sun exposure at dawn. It happened sometimes, she explained, some people transitioned only to loose their minds and exhibit erratic and reckless behaviour. Vampire society dealt with them swiftly, ending their existence as soon as possible.

She'd survived on instinct at first, hiding from the sun the moment the faded beams of dawn had made her skin tingle unpleasantly. She'd travelled for days, hungry but unable to fill herself with food. Finally she'd stumbled upon the landholdings of a prominent English landowner, Lady Amhurst, who also happened to be a very old vampire. She'd taken her in, so to speak, teaching her what she needed to know and helping her build a new life.

"The hardest part about becoming a vampire wasn't the transition or even the blood. It was leaving my whole life behind. My favourite books, my mother's jewellery, pictures from my parents, my old horse... I wasn't dead, and yet I was. It was a very hard time, but I was lucky to find a guide, a patron of sorts. After that, and when it was safe, I travelled the world. I've seen... many things. But it gets very lonely, after a while. I could never linger in some place for more than a few years, never could settle down and grow roots somewhere. So when the revelation came I was so happy... I could have another sort of life, a life out in the open." She frowned, a self-deprecating smile flitting across her lips. "Well, it's a work in progress."

She was determined to make the good people of Storybrooke warm up to her and it filled him with relief to know she was dead set on staying. He shuddered at the prospect of going back to how it was without her, without someone who saw him, thought of him, worried about him. Belle was obnoxiously perceptive, but never blunt. Above all she seemed to sense his sadness, for lack of a better term, and encouraged him to pursue new projects. She mentioned once, as if in passing, that there was high demand in the vampire community for well-restored furniture and antiques.

"Over the years vampires formed intricate business networks, and things like the ones in your shop would sell really easy there. I could put you in contact with someone, but it'd mean that your workload would expand considerably. Your work was one of the things that first drew me to you, it's exquisite."

Through her contact he found a veritable fountain of business, both as a seller, an acquirer and a restorer. He became passionate about his work in a way that he'd never been because it was a thrilling novelty to deal in antiques with people who had used those items regularly in their lives. For them they weren't antiques but remnants of a time they'd had to leave behind.

With his motivation at an all-time high he decided it was time to schedule a fixed weekly appointment with Hopper. He'd lived for years as if he was already with one foot on the grave, waiting in limbo for death to catch up to him. Without Bae he'd lost his sense of self, had gotten caught in a sort of haze. And he was terrified of going back there. The psychologist, though twitchy and far too nervous for his own good, seemed pleased to see him commit himself to long-term treatment and though it soon became clear it would never be easy for him to bare himself in front of another person he forced himself to, week after week. Belle had been the one to snap him awake, but getting better had to be his decision, for it was exclusively up to him.

The only thing keeping him from fully enjoying Belle's friendship and the wonderful effect her mere presence was having in his life was his traitorous mind, that sometimes went down paths that weren't appropriate. Belle was a tactile person, prone to long hugs and resting her hand along one of his arms or shoulders. Her skin was soft and just the littlest bit colder than his own, a subtle reminder of her nature. When he found himself seeking out those touches, inviting her eagerly into his personal space, he'd made excuses for himself. After all he had lived years deprived of affectionate touch, it wasn't surprising that he actively sought it in Belle when she was so willing to provide it.

But after a while it became impossible to lie to himself, not when a brush of Belle's fingers against the nape of his neck in passing made him feel something hot and sharp coil low in his belly. He rebelled against the very notion of rediscovering his long-forgotten sex drive in his early fifties and with the only person who he could call friend. Guiltily he tried reminding himself constantly, specially when he caught himself leaning close to smell her hair or studying her profile, of the fact that she could easily snap him in half with her bare hands and drank human blood to sustain herself. But, far from repulsing him, her vampiric nature... excited him. Somehow the knowledge of the power she had, the strength beneath the surface, aroused him.

Belle was tiny and soft, gentle and kind. She also happened to be indestructable. He'd seen her rise from the dead, bloody and yet unharmed by a car crash, had seen her burned and healed in the span of seconds, had watch her hoist large pieces of furniture like they weighted nothing when she insisted on helping him at the pawnshop. And though she looked so young and fresh when she talked about her life or the present in that particular way only the old use he was reminded that, compared to her, he was a young buck. And he loved it. He loved everything about it.

But, above all, he was fascinated by her fangs. His first glimpse of them had been overshadowed by the terror of seeing her lying in a puddle of her own blood and then the staggering relief when she'd simply stood up and walked away. Afterwards, when they became friendly, he caught himself looking at her when she chewed her lip, a nervous gesture, wishing for even a small flash of her fangs. And some time after that, when he began dreaming of her in entirely inappropriate ways, most of his dream scenarios involved Belle sinking her fangs into his neck, drawing his blood in slow, long pulls. He'd read the bite stung but he rather imagined it was a good kind of pain, the sort that mingled well with pleasure. And he hated himself for even thinking about it, for sometimes touching his neck where it was most sensitive, wondering what would puncture marks feel like if he touched them.

He grew terrified of what his deeper feelings and baser impulses could do to his relationship with Belle. Throughout his life he had always found a way to wreck everything, to push people away and tainting whatever made him happy, turn it into something twisted and ugly. So he buried everything, pushed it down and made a point of ignoring its existence.

He didn't count on Madame Mayor unintentionally sabotaging his efforts. It all started with an innocuous comment he barely paid attention to, Belle off-handedly complaining that her monthly blood delivery was late and she was running low. He commented in the utter incompetence of people in general and the evil of monopolies but was reassured by the knowledge that Belle had enough bags left to tie her over till the company made the delivery. A few weeks passed and though he had forgotten all about that particular conversation but he started to notice small things, like Belle having trouble lifting something heavy that usually she had no problems with, her hair looking a bit limp and dark circles slowly appearing under her eyes.

When he found her one evening in the library clutching her stomach as if in pain he finally confronted her about it. Unwillingly she told him that there had been some mysterious up at the Post Office and her packaged has been "misplaced". She'd called the company to order more but the high demand meant she'd been put on a waiting list. She'd be without blood for over a few weeks, which was trying for a vampire so young.

"It'll be fine, I mean... it's not fatal. Just... just unpleasant. The hunger makes it difficult to think and to function. It's been a while since I've felt this way."

She smiled, but it was more bravery than anything else that prompted her to do so. He kept a close eye her from then on, watching as her skin began to take on a greyish colour and her lips paled. Somehow rumour got out about the resident vampire's shortage of blood and fear spiked anew, with people convinced Belle would snap one day and go on a feeding spree. Even Granny and Ruby treated Belle differently, with a tiny bit of fear evident in their eyes. And though the vampire said nothing she stopped going to the diner or outside at all, limiting herself to the library and Royce's pawnshop.

He'd convinced himself that all he could really do for her is show her he was unafraid when in her company, to provide companionship and make sure she wasn't in any true danger. But another part of him, one he'd tried to silence many times, reared its ugly head and whispered low in his ear about something else he could be doing for Belle, something he could offer her. It taunted him by pointing out Belle's struggle and reminding him that he held the key to ending it. It wouldn't be selfish, it wouldn't be wrong, if it was done for her, it reasoned.

"They told me it'll be a week till the blood arrives. It sounds like forever. I'd forgotten how bad the hunger pains can get."

Belle sat on the back room of his shop, looking like a breeze would topple her. He silently passed her a cup of tea, trying not to let his uneasiness show. No matter how many times she said that the hunger was more of a nuisance than a serious threat reality seemed hell-bent on contradicting her. She was suffering, in pain right in front of his eyes, and he had a way of helping her. It wouldn't be bad if it was for her, surely.

"You don't have to wait a week. You could drink from me, Belle."


End file.
